The Wonderland Haunting
by Ervin Fielder
Summary: The characters of Lewis Carroll's timeless classic escape from Wonderland, in an attempt to take over our world.
1. Hatter in the Mirror

Disclaimer: I dont own the 'Alice in Wonderland' characters mentioned in the following story. I do not own any of the colorful ideas brought to us by Lewis Carroll in his timeless classic.

CHAPTER ONE: Hatter in the Mirror

My name is James. This is my story:

I couldn't clear the vision from my mind. His long, horse like teeth grinning at me from behind the mirror glass. His large eyes crinkled slightly as he laughed hysterically. He said nothing. He just laughed and stared. I knew immediately that he was the Hatter. He was wearing a hat, after all, and certainly _looked_ mad.

The Mad Hatter. Not how I pictured him from the book. It's a wonder poor Alice didn't run away in fright at the sight of him (in spite of the fact that he was keeping company with an equally mad, _talking_ Hare and Dormouse).

This all happened in the wee hours of the morning, while my parents were dead asleep. Liz, my sister, had left hours before, through her bedroom window, to party with some friends downtown. Oh, the secrets I keep for her. I knew she'd owe me someday. Some inevitable day when I lost my mind completely. I just didn't think that day would come so soon.

I couldn't believe it. _The_ Mad Hatter in _my_ bathroom mirror. A nightmare, but I wasn't dreaming. I pinched myself as hard as I could. I even bit myself!

I came to the conclusion that the next time I bite myself to the point of bruising (and bleeding slightly) I'll be sure to do so in a less noticeable place. My forearm was purple and yellow for the next few weeks. Two crescent-shaped bruises with four or five thin red scabs. Unpleasant to look at, and _impossible_ to explain, so I kept it covered.

My disturbing visitor raised many hopeless questions. What does one do when faced with such things? Ask their closest friend for their thoughts or advice? I haven't got any friends. Maybe tell my parents and hope they wont send me to an insane asylum? No, that wouldn't do, I prefer to eat with metal utensils. Will he visit again? I certainly hope not.

So, in the end, I decided to keep quite and lie about my injury, should anyone happen to notice it. Simple enough. No one needed to know.

Little did I know the most unlikely person would soon be bleeding the truth from me.

Mom had been visiting my grandmother more often than usual in the weeks following my mirror incident. My bruise was beginning to fade, but only slightly. I heal slowly. It was annoying, wearing long sleeve shirts in the middle of summer. I was sure my parents were getting suspicious.

That one fateful day I decided, against my better judgment, to tag along with mom on one of her lengthy visits to Grams. Gram had air conditioning, at least. And although her house smelled like floor wax and mothballs, that was the price I had to pay to keep my cool. Gram was alright to be around, and it was fun to see mom be treated like a child for a change.

As we walked through the front door we were greeted by Charlie, Grams hyperactive dog she got to replace Gramps, who had passed away when I was twelve.

"Oh, Charlie! For crying out loud!" my mother said as she grabbed the naked coat-rack to keep from falling over.

"Charlie! Go lay down!" it was Gram. She appeared in hall wearing her trademark yellow apron. Her arms were open wide, ready for a hug. I finished removing my shoes and accepted her embrace. I could feel her love, and found myself wondering why I had been so reluctant to visit her. After she was done gawking at how tall I'd gotten since the last time I'd seen her (four weeks ago), we all walked into the kitchen and took our usual seats at the dining room table.

"Nice and cool in here," my mother said.

"Oh, Alice likes it cold," Gram said, rolling her eyes.

"She's here then, is she?" my mother asked.

"She arrived this morning. She's resting in the spare bedroom."

Alice was a _very_ old friend of Gram's, from England. Gram had attended a prestigious school in London when she was a little girl. Alice was her best friend's mother, and took Gram in, almost as her own child, when she discovered that Gram had been living on campus, with no parents of her own. Gram would even spend the summers in Alice's cottage, playing all day in the meadows with her best friend, Alice's daughter, Bridget. Gram always thought of Alice as her mother, and told many stories about her adventures in England, growing up under Alice's care.

Bridget had recently passed, and Alice was sent to a nursing home (which didn't last long). When Gram found out, she took Alice in at once.

Now _obscenely_ old (as you can imagine... Gram wasn't a spring chicken herself), Alice was said to be clinging to life.

"The doctors have given her about a month," my grandmothers eyes were welling up. "Alice said that should be more than enough time, whatever that means." Gram chuckled, a small laugh that betrayed her tearing eyes.

"Oh, mom," My mother said. She reached out across the table for Grams hand, "Do you need me to help around the house. I would be more than willing."

"I'll help too, Gram."

"That's very sweet of you but I think I have it under control–"

Ding. Ding. Ding. A distant bell sounded.

"That would be Alice," my grandmother explained. She got up from the table and disappeared through a narrow doorway off the kitchen. Moments later she was back, grinning at me.

"She wants to meet you, James," she said "Straighten up your hair."


	2. Dark and Stormy Night

CHAPTER TWO: Dark and Stormy Night

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," Alice said with a smile ," I'm not dead yet."

Alice was sitting in a wooden rocking chair by the window, wrapped from the waist down in a lumpy quilt. Her wrinkled skin looked almost translucent in the sunlight. She had her white hair pinned in an unkempt bun. Her most distinguishing feature, however, had to be her eyes. They were the large, curious eyes of someone much younger. Those eyes were so alive, yet she looked so dead.

Alice was a smiling corpse with the eyes of a child. How wonderful. Although she was certainly not the strangest thing I had seen lately.

"You're taller than I've imagined," she said, "Please sit down."

Alice motioned toward the foot of her bed, not far from where she was sitting.

I edged closer, afraid to make any sudden movements. She appeared to be more energetic than I was told to expect (going by her eyes mostly). Yet I was afraid the slightest breeze could carry her body away. Funny how a body so frail and thin could be so difficult for a person Alice's age to move. How old was she anyway?

The walk to the foot of the bed was longer than I would have liked. I made several careful steps, not sure how far to swing my arms while walking. I could feel her gaze upon me. I always get nervous when people watch me walk.

I took my seat.

Alice coughed. She glanced out the window briefly, before clearing her throat and turning to me. She stared at me, let out a giggle, and opened her mouth the speak.

"I don't want to frighten you, James. That's not my intention," her voice was not as shaky as I had first perceived it to be, "I don't know where to begin."

"At the beginning," the words bubbled to the surface from nowhere. I spoke without thinking. Did I feel _comfortable_ around Alice? Maybe my subconscious wanted to bring humor to the situation. What could Alice possibly say that would frighten me?

"That's always a good place to start," I finished hesitantly, more self conscious than ever.

Alice smiled, obviously finding my outburst amusing.

"Well, in that case," she continued, "It was a dark and _stormy_ night…"

I snorted. Alice continued.

"… I was young at the time, probably sixteen. I was sitting alone in my bedroom, brushing my hair, as I did every night, in front of my vanity mirror. To my surprise, a face appeared to me through the glass. A face that was not my own. Can you guess who it was?"

Our eyes locked. I couldn't break the stare. Old Alice rose, surprisingly, from her rocking chair, and grabbed my injured arm. Her voice surrounded me; a quiet whisper that echoed in my brain. "James.. James." she said. The room seemed to fade around us, and she sang:

"_I know you've seem him; I've seen him too._

_There's a reason he's come for you._

_Others look, but they don't see;_

_This journey's meant for you and me._

_So, now's the time; just grab my hand,_

_and take me back to Wonderland."_

Alice's face slowly disappeared into the blackness.


	3. Finally Sinking In

CHAPTER THREE: Finally Sinking In

_You've got to be kidding me_, I thought to myself as I sat, stunned, on the bed. The darkness had lifted, and Alice was back in her rocking chair, peering out the window as though nothing had happened.

"What was _that_ about?" I asked.

"Just one of my attacks," Alice said, not looking away from the window, "They've been coming more frequently lately. "

"Right," I said. I hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

Alice shifted in her chair. Our eyes met again, for the first time since her episode.

"You must listen carefully, James," she said. Her face was serious; her eyes were intense; she was making me nervous.

"I'm extremely old, and get sleepy when I repeat myself."

I nodded.

"I may sound crazy, but there's no use in doubting anything I'm about to tell you. Do you understand?"

I nodded, eager to hear what she had to say.

"Did you enjoy my song?" she asked. I suddenly noticed that the melody of her song was still playing, softly in the back of my mind, like a well wound music box.

I nodded.

"It's an old _Wonderland_ folk song. Sometimes I hum the tune when I'm alone, and when I have one of my attacks they're usually to the tune of that song."

_What are these attacks? _I thought,_ and_ _did she just say Wonderland?_ Surly she couldn't be...

"I am Alice P. Liddell, _the_ Alice in Wonderland," she said with a proud grin, her eyes twinkling.

_Impossible. Ludicrous. There's no way Wonderland can exist; _that's exactly what any normal person would think. Yet, they probably haven't been attacked by the Mad Hatter through a mirror. I had no choice but to believe Alice.

But wait. That would mean...

"How old _are_ you?" I asked. As a boy, my mother taught me never to ask a woman her age, but this, I figured, was a unique situation.

"I'm one hundred and seventeen years old," she said.

"How are you still _alive_?" I asked, in the politest way possible to ask such a question.

Alice smiled, clearly glad I wasn't phased by anything she'd said so far.

"I'm just as curious about that as you are, I'm afraid," she said, "I believe we'll discover the answer when the time is right."

We sat in silence for a few moments. Everything was finally sinking in, and it was all to much to absorb at once.

The compartment in my brain holding my memory of the Hatter flew open. I had somehow suppressed my memories to protect myself, but I couldn't deny it anymore. His awful face, his rotten teeth, his hollow, insane eyes; were all as real as the bruise on my arm. But unlike my bruise, I had a strong feeling that the Hatter would not fade with time.

What's more, here I was, face to face with someone who, moments before, I thought of as nothing more than a children's novel character. And in spite of her celebrity, she appeared to be your average, feeble, old lady on the brink of death (if death was even possible for Alice).

That being said, I couldn't help but notice that there was something unique about Alice's eyes. It's been said that a person's eyes are the windows to their soul. In that case, Alice's soul was singing. Singing and dancing; in tune with the music box still playing softly in my head.

Alice stared patiently out the window. A level of patience someone her age is bound to acquire over the years. The sky was a heavy, slate grey, so dark it felt like night.

I cleared my throat to speak.

"How do I fit in to all of this?" I asked.

"I'm glad you ask," Alice said. She fixed her posture and adjusted her blanket.

"I need your help, James. I'm going back to Wonderland, and you're coming with me."


	4. Into Wonderland

**Chapter Four: Into Wonderland**

Alice rose from her chair and began walking. She gestured, knowingly, for me to remain seated, on the bed. I patiently watched her inch across the room, until she stood before the bookshelf in the corner, by the window.

Nestled amongst the leather-bound tomes was a wooden clock with ornate gold details. She carefully dusted the surface with the sleeve of her cardigan, and unlatched the dome of glass protecting its face. The clock ticked loudly in the silence. Was it ticking this loudly before?

"A useful trick the caterpillar taught me," she said, staring intensely at the clock, as though she were making a difficult decision. She then closed her eyes, deeply concentrating on something internal. She raised her withered index finger and lightly tapped the hands of the clock.

The hands stopped moving. The clock stopped ticking. And for reasons I could not pinpoint, I knew immediately that Alice had stopped time altogether.

* * *

The eastern edge of Lacey Park wasn't more than a ten minute walk from my grandmother's house. Of course, pushing Alice's wheelchair over the bumpy pavement, and long stretches of grass, lengthened the journey considerably. Time, however, was on our side.

We weaved carefully through the still figures of those who were frozen in time. A three dimensional snapshot of modern-day society. A group of children were smiling broadly, their skipping rope caught in mid-swing, along with the jumper. A gaggle of runners were froze, mid-stride, along the riverside path. The river itself, an odd sight to see, was a long stretch of dark ice, oddly out of place on a sunny (albeit time-frozen) summer afternoon.

"Not much further now," said Alice, "just that cluster of bushes there." She pointed with her cane.

This end of Lacey Park was bordered by a tall, thick hedge. A number of small flower beds had been planted in front of the hedge, effectively giving the barrier a much softer, integrated feeling. Alice directed us to a particular spot of the hedge that had always fascinated me as a child. The garden before it was home to a cluster of bushes, not flowers, which had overgrown their boundaries, and were now pushing into the hedge itself.

When our destination was finally reached, I wiped the sweat from my brow and began examining the hedge, and the bushes that fed into it.

"There is a narrow path through the bushes, there," said Alice. It's the most secure entrance to Wonderland. I believe the Hatter is watching the mirrors.

"We'll enter together, that's probably the safest –"

Alice stopped. At first I wondered why. A look of concern flashed across her wrinkled face. A soft breeze blew through her powder-white hair.

Then it dawned on me. A breeze; which had now, quickly, matured into wind.

"Alice, what's happening?" I asked, panic tightening my vocal cords .

A darkness was gathering; coming closer by the second. Clouds began stirring in the sky, which moments ago had been cloudless. What had been a tangerine sunset was now a gathering storm. Grey, and full of violent motion.

Alice lifted herself from the wheelchair, with such force that it fell over, one wheel spinning. She stood as strong and powerful as a woman half her age. Her defensive stance frightened me even more.

"Alice!" I pleaded.

"It's the Hatter!" Alice yelled, "Run!"

"Run? Where?" my head darted around, looking desperately for a safe place to hide.

"Down the rabbit hole. Quick!"

I hesitated, not wanting, or willing, to leave Alice to fend for herself. Also frightened at the thought of entering Wonderland.

"Go, now!" she yelled "I'll be right behind you!"

I reluctantly followed Alice's demand. I got on my knees and began crawling through the narrow crack in the bushes Alice had indicated moments before. The rough branches scratched painfully through my T-Shirt. Sharp stones rolled uncomfortably beneath my knees. It was dark within the leaves. I felt ahead with my hands, scratching at the dirt, not wanting the free-fall to sneak up on me. But when it did occur, it felt as though the ground beneath me had dissolved.

I was falling. I was falling fast.

* * *

It was a long fall, that observed all the usual laws of physics. There wasn't much time to think, or to read jars of marmalade. The objects my body smashed into, as I fell, could have been bookshelves, and pianos, but it was too dark to tell.

Thankfully, I came to a sudden, and almost safe landing when the fall was through (considering what could have happened). My thundering thud was followed, soon after, by one just like it.

_That'll be Alice_, I thought. Hoping I was right.

I had to get up. I had to see if she was alright. But my body wouldn't allow it and my mind slowly faded into darkness.

* * *

"James. James, please wake up."

The voice was soft and semi-recognizable. My eyes opened slowly. The blurring subsided to reveal the gentle, concerned face of a young woman, not much older than myself. Her dirty blonde hair was tied in a messy ponytail.

"Wh–Where am I?" I asked. I felt as though I was waking from a very long, very vivid dream, and reality was pale as a comparison.

"Where's Alice?" I tried to look away from the stranger before me, but she held my head firmly in place. I gazed into her wide eyes, which seemed to dance and sing.

"You're looking at her," she said with a smile.


	5. The Hall of Doors

Chapter 5: The Hall of Doors

I stood in a long, narrow hallway, with the newly youthful Alice. The hall was lined with solid oak doors; all of which, so far, were locked. We worked our way down the hall, trying doors as we went.

Alice's sudden physical change was almost too much to handle, with everything else that was happening lately. After all, a person needs a certain degree of normality in life. So far nothing about _this_ day could be considered normal, and it was becoming steadily worse. _Could I be changed too?_ I thought._ If I were to look in a mirror would it be me I see; the me I'm used to seeing? _Yet, checking my reflection was out of the question. According to Alice, the Hatter was watching the mirrors. Whatever that meant.

"When did you change?" I asked Alice. Finally mustering the courage to ask. I'd been having trouble facing her since I regained consciousness. An invisible barrier had formed between us.

"When I was falling" she answered, tugging hard on the handle of the nearest door. She was certainly stronger than she was this morning.

"And you knew it would happen." It wasn't a question. "I notice you've changed your clothes."

It was true, Alice no longer wore her baggy cardigan and orthopedic shoes. She was sporting a knee length black skirt, white blouse, and black ballet style shoes.

"No blue dress?" I asked "No apron?"

Alice sighed dramatically.

"Somebody watches too many movies," she said. Her hands moved to her hips. "You needn't make this awkward."

"_I'm_ making this awkward?" was she serious?

She was watching me with a blank, expressionless face, which made it much harder to express my anger. Her stare filled me with unease. Could she read my thoughts?

"For all I know you could be in on this. Working with the Hatter. The fall didn't even affect you. It just made you younger."

Once again, I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eyes. Her strength was intimidating, and it was her turn to speak.

"I fell as hard as you did, James." She said calmly, "I just knew what to expect."

I shrugged, to suggest I couldn't be convinced, but Alice could read me like a book. She undoubtably was the same old woman I'd met this morning. She knew as well as I did that to regain my trust she had to come clean.

"I didn't lure you here for my own benefit, James."

I busied myself with the nearest doorknob, tugging harder than necessary, in spite of my sore arm.

"Would you please _look_ at me, James? I'm telling the truth."

I turned slowly and let my eyes meet hers. She smiled pleadingly.

I listened, wordlessly to what she had to say.

"A certain level of immortality is granted to those whose legacy lasts longer than they, as humans, are able. My life is fed by the memory's of my younger self, through the stories that were written so many years ago.

"I've been living life, as a tired old woman, for many years now, aging visibly because an important part of my legacy has been missing. Wonderland.

"I've been denying Wonderland's existence for years, in an attempt to lead a regular life. Wonderland is a world of its own, with it's own memories and traditions to keep it stable throughout the years. Yet, undeniably, parts of it cannot run properly without me. I don't know the extent of the damages, but my return should have some interesting effects on some aspects of Wonderland."

I was staring at Alice, open mouthed. It was a lot to take in, but the information felt oddly reassuring. Truth and reason have a way of bringing focus to a situation.

There's no way I could remain angry with Alice.

"I had a theory that my arrival in Wonderland would boost the magic that keeps me alive. It turns out, I was right. And now I am better suited to help you on our journey."

"Our journey?" I asked, "I don't understand how any of this concerns me."

"You've been chosen, James," Alice said grimly, "by the Hatter, as Wonderlands newest link to reality. He keeps trying, and failing. I may have been the first to have fallen down the rabbit hole, but the Hatter keeps demanding more."

"To keep his memory strong?"

"Exactly," said Alice, as she walked to the nearest unchecked door. "It affects him differently somehow. He's gotten strong already. Strong enough to appear in mirrors and, although froze-time is partly a Wonderland dimension, it's not particularly easy to create a storm within that environment."

Alice tugged on the doorknob and the door creaked open, with much effort since the hinges were rusted. She smiled enthusiastically in my direction, and held her arm out invitingly, toward the threshold.

"After you, oh chosen one."

* * *

"Welcome to my torture chamber," said Alice as she shut the door behind her.

The room looked nothing like a torture chamber. The circular room, was full of doors like the hallway we'd just left. There was a high, rounded ceiling above. The setting seemed oddly familiar. Then I understood why.

In the middle of the floor, lit by a curious patch of sunlight shining from nowhere, there stood a three-legged, glass table. A small medicine bottle was placed strategically, like the product of a magazine ad, on the shiny surface, its label tilted invitingly in my direction. DRINK ME.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," said Alice, "I've since discovered other, less dramatic ways out of this room."

"What, no pool of tears?" I asked with mock disappointment.

She smiled, and was about to say something when, suddenly there was an intense scratching noise coming from behind one of the circular room's many doors. Alice and I shared quick worried glances, but before we could do anything, the door in question burst open and from the darkness of the room beyond sprung the White Rabbit.


End file.
